m^m:^'. 



^^'MMi'"'^'- 



'^aS^^ygiiSi^ 


aai iiSTV'. -..uff, .,. ...Km«BBipBs !«rujTis»iTO7,, wyjuf. r-v v ..•^' • .•..2>j;ifcss'ji^^aaHMi ij_ 




Clje l©l)ite iFlame 









rte. /=>.?, ?.r/s 



Book. 



* ^ 



Copyiight]^?. 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 



The White Flame 



THE 

WHITE FLAME 

A PLAY BY LUKE NORTH ti*^ 



H-^Ah^ 



® 



The Golden Press : Los Angeles 
MCMX 



Copyright, 1909 
Copyright, 1010 
By James H. Griffes 
All rights reserved 



^ 



^^ 



©CLD 25fl09 



Revised Author's Edition 
of 240 copies of which 
this is No, ^ 



V 



»N 




IT 



J PBRSONS OF THB PLAY 

TEACHER, guide and counselor on the Way' 

ALESSANDRO, a neophite and pupil 

JUDITH, a virgin of the temple 

^ ALEXANDER RELTON (Alessandro) 

MRS. JULIA LISTON (Judith) 

: MRS. MERTON-BLAKE, patron of Egyptian 
i archeology 

"JANET HARDS 

DR. PLODINGER 



The White Flame 



ACT ONE 

TH^ CAUSE 

The Time of this Act is in the early dawn of Egypt, 
when the pyramids were new and human motive was 
little mercenary, when religion and philosophy were one 
and did not claim to be other than the Explanation of 
Life and Nature. This was before theology, when cere- 
monies were known to be but symbols and priests 
were but teachers and friendly guides on the Way. 

It was a time analogous to that still earlier time in 
which man ceased to be Androgyne, and the De-volu- 
tionary forces were still accentuating the Separation of 
the sexes. Hence Asceticism was logically the way of 
knowledge and power. 

[A time remote and a Condition now Reversed.] 

The Scene is in a chamber of the Great Pyramid. A 
little to the right of center is an Altar on which burns 
steadily a Blue Flame. Back of this is an imposing 
entrance guarded by massive doors over which is an 



lo THE WHITE FLAME 

intense White Light that remains very noticeable until 
almost the end of the scene — and finally expires. The 
walls and ceiling are of a polished colorless stone 
that readily reflects the predominating hue of the lights. 
A few silk-like tapestries symbolically marked relieve 
the bareness of the walls, and the Exits to right and 
to left center are closed by finely woven draperies of 
dull and indefinite yellowish hues that blend with and 
reflect the changing color tone of the room. 

To the left is a large mound-like couch covered 
with soft textures, carelessly and loosely arranged, in 
hues verging from gray to almost green. It is some- 
what strewn, and the ground about it, with white, yel- 
low, and pale pink roses, and with lotus blossoms. 
These flowers are individually inconspicuous and in 
mass rather neutral of color and importance. 

Extreme symplicity (but neither hardness nor bare- 
ness) distinguishes the chamber and its every ap- 
pointment. At no time during this Act is there a sharp, 
positive color in the room. 

The robes worn by the Teacher and by AlEssandro 
are not white, but of a slightly toned yellowish gray that 
might be mistaken for white. The simple but ample 
costume of Judith is in hue a very soft but light blue. 
The children are garbed in soft neutral tints and shades, 
and of the flowers and greenery they carry none is 
brilliant or positive in color. 



THE FIRST ACT ii 

# 

During almost the entire Act the prevailing color 
tone of the room is distinctly blue, like the Altar light — 
a diaphanous blue like summer mists between mountain 
ranges. 

As the Curtain rises a group of garlanded children are 
slowly circling the Altar to decorate it with lotus blos- 
soms and greenery. This pretty ceremony is accom- 
panied bjr imposing but not solemn music and occupies 
the first five minutes, by which time the audience is 
seated, ladies have removed their hats and there is some 
chance of the opening lines being heard. 

Right and Left are from the viewpoint 
of the audience. 



Enter from left the Teacher, an elderly man, 
and AlESSandro his pupil, much younger, about 
thirty-five. 

Children finish their innocent incantations and 
exit to right. 

AlESSAndro {gazing intently at the Altar). 
The blue flame ; is it colder than the fires of the 
rose? 

Tkacher. Hotter, as the fire is hotter than its 
fiame and the flame than its aura : a fiercer flame 



12 THE WHITE FLAME 

than red or gold — tenser, deeper, a subtler blaze 
that burns a finer substance than does the grosser 
flame. It is the blue flame of mentality, the true 
symbol of Man. 

AlKSSandro (musingly). And the test is ever 
by fire? 

Te;acher. Every test of life is a flame. Here, 
in this Chamber of the Blue Light, remote from 
the dust and moil of the world, shall fire read 
thy secret thoughts and yearnings. 

A1.ESSANDR0. Of the flesh, I have none. 

Teacher. May the flame attest it. 

AlESSandro. The flame! How shall it attest 
my thought? 

Teacher. This altar fire shall burn a steadfast 
blue that verges to a purer white, only while the 
human thought within its range is centered on 
the finer things of mind and soul — only while 
active thinking and those aspirations of the soul 
that lie beyond thought, shall prevail. Should 
the mind waver and emotion steal upon thee, thy 
lack of readiness to enter the Chamber of the 
White Flame shall be attested by the altar light. 



THE FIRST ACT 13 

Alessandro. How attested, my father? 

Teacher. The flame shall change its color — 
from blue to gold, to rose — perchance to sput- 
tering sodden red. 

AivESSANDRO. Is this magic? 

Teacher. Magic is for children. Here we talk 
as men. This altar light burns from a chemical 
so pure, in an atmosphere so fine, that vibrations 
of every thought and feeling affect it. Who shall 
rule his mind and keep it to the diamond point 
of aspiration — he shall safely pass this chamber 
and enter the fiercer flame of the White Light. 

AlESSandro. And this is the^ test of fire. 

Teacher. Every span of life is but a flame, 
my son, a flame to burn away the dross that 
hides Reality. 

Alessandro. What is Reality, my teacher? 

Teacher. Words but symbol it. It is the heart 
of the flame. In the silence of the White Cham- 
ber thou canst reach nearer the Heart and know 
of Reality more than words mean. 

Alessandro. And this flame that life is burns 
away the errors and missteps — consumes the 



14 THE WHITE FLAME 

dross and pettiness of existence. 

Teacher. It is true. But there is a better 
truth. Life holds no dross — save for those who 
think it. This is truth that shall humble thee: 
In all the world is nothing base or mean or use- 
less, and he who treads the Way to liberation 
from Rebirth shall learn to wait for the slowest 
traveler. 

AlESSandro. I do not ask for what another 
may not have. 

Teacher. Nor can any gain that which the 
meanest shall not have ere life's long span of 
deaths and births be over. In man's Great Day 
on earth each soul plays every part, and learns 
to bare its heart to every cry of human pain or 
joy. Thus shall the mass attuned become, its dis- 
sonance fade, and harmony be won. 

AlEssandro. And then? 

Teacher. Our Night of time prevails, and 
man goes forth in one vast group to gain his 
cosmic rest. 

Alessandro. The end of time — ? 

Teacher. Not so. For on the cosmic morrow. 



THE FIRST ACT 15 

in mighty caravan, the human group, now god- 
like in its range, betakes itself to other worlds. 
* Tis profitless to think much on it — but speak 
not of " the end." There is no end for mind and 
heart that's free to soar beyond sensations' con- 
fines and reach the core of things within the 
flame. 

* "Like a white eagle on some towering peak 
Fronting the burning sun with radiant eyes. 
So let thy mind to heights of knowledge rise. 
When thou art hungered, flesh the curved beak 
Of Meditation on wild thoughts that break 
Old boundaries through. Fly thou 'neath boundless 

skies, 
In the fierce joy of power that satisfies. 
To rend and to devour, and still to seek. 
Yea, let thy mind plumed with deific might, 
Flashing from star to star, all worlds explore; 
Reaching new realms each year with tireless flight. 
Breasting deep-winged the Empyrean's purple core. 
Bathed in the Sun of suns whose dazzling light 
Leads thee to gaze and fly forevermore." 

AlESSAndro. My heart is lifted by the maj- 
esty of the picture. 



*Th« lines quoted «r« by Alys Thompson. 



i6 THE WHITE FLAME 

Teacher. Yet in words as blunt and bald as 
mother tongue may carry would I speak. Let 
children have their toys of metaphor and trope. 
Here by this flame of which thy very soul is 
part — which vibrates to that human part of 
man that spans the gulf of sleep and carries o'er 
from life to life — we talk as soul to soul. When 
you have reached the Chamber of White Fire 
and stand within its fusing flame, then speech 
within thee shall be stilled, cold reason laid aside, 
and thou shalt Know. 

Ai<ESSANDRO. I would enter. 

Teacher. Patience. The door of knowledge 
slowly turns. The White Flame but fuses and 
attests. Of itself it gives no knowledge. And 
there are distances yet to compass. 

Alessandro. Distances? 

Teacher. As presently you will find. A final 
word I'd give you now, my son. What is this 
that we call a Man ? 

Alessandro. Your word I wait. 

Teacher. A compound then of Mind, Soul, 
and Spirit, 



THE FIRST ACT 17 

Ai^esSANDRO. The sacred triangle? 

Tmchejr. The triad, true, though I speak it 
not as sacred. No thing is sacred beyond an- 
other. All things are sacred — all and nothing. 
But empty sounds, to real men, are words of 
praise and blame. 

AliSSSAndro. Some things change quicker — 
some last longer? 

TEACHER. Yes ; and of that Three which man 
is, the Spirit only is eternal — and Formless. 

Ai.E)SSANDRO. Mind and Soul, then, have form ? 

Teacher. Yes, form, though mortal eyes may 
not behold it. And having form they change — 
but slowly, slowly, lasting out the round of man's 
long earthly cycle on the Wheel of Rebirth. And 
in these forms of mind and soul there dwells the 
Formless Everlasting Ray that wills and works 
and builds from Dawn till Night, and then from 
Night till Dawn again, unending ! 

AivESSANDRO. A mighty picture. Is man so 
old — his world so vast? 

Teacher. That more than human which man 
is hath no Beginning — his world no confines. 



i8 THE WHITE FLAME 

AlESSandro. Of man's form and flesh thou 
sayest but little, my teacher. 

Teacher. Have we not done with these? 
Man *s not his form, nor yet the wild emotions 
that control and e'er destroy it. Man is that trin- 
ity which intermittently reclothes itself in denser 
form. This form man changes as the outer man 
puts off and on his coat. 

AlEssandro. This change — this change that 
men call death — 

Teacher. Is but life's Longer Sleep. 

AlESSandro. To die then is to fall asleep^ and 
wake again in some new form? 

Teacher. In some new human form. Man 
does not sink beneath his own estate, to enter 
forms of animals, as some who reason not nor 
see the Way of Things have said. 

AlEssandro. But in this Longer Sleep we 
lose the memory of daylight happenings. 

Teacher. Of daylight's petty, fleeting hap- 
penings. We do not carry to deep sleep ephem- 
eral things of the external world. 

AlEssandro. And so the loves and friendships 



THE FIRST ACT 19 

of a life must end with death? And friends and 
lovers know each other not upon the new life's 
morrow ? 

Teacher. Why, that is as it may be. If friends 
and lovers know each other but by the garb they 
wear, then with the change of garb must recog- 
nition cease. 

AivESSANDRO. But bonds that reach beneath the 
flesh and form — ? 

Teacher. May yet not rest upon more lasting 
base than the emotions. These ever change and 
fade: It is their nature. 

AivESSANDRO. There may be stronger bonds? 

Teacher. There are. And bonds that bind 
Reincarnating Souls outlast the sleep of many 
Nights of life and stretch into eternity. 

AlESSandro. But we forget. Is there no sleep 
without the loss of memory? 

Teacher. Relatively none, since memory is 
but the holding fast of things external and 
ephemeral. But there is sleep without the letting 
go of life, and they who pass into the White 
Flame shall learn to draw the Shroud of Change 



20 THE WHITE FLAME 

about them, nor lose the thread of life. Who 
conquers mind and makes it servant to the 
Will — he hath conquered death. 

AivESSANDRO. 'Tis at this door I knock. That 
gulf of passing consciousness I'd bridge, and live 
with those high souls who keep the knowledge of 
the Way of Things from time's corrupting hand. 

TeachiSr. The fire shall test thee — fire that 
runs from youth's red blaze of passion to fiercest 
flames of white. 

A1.ESSANDR0. Men have worshipped fire. 

Teacher. And still do worship it. But few 
have sought the heart of fire. Men live in the 
flame and the flame consumes. 

AlESSAndro. Fire — vibration — 

Teacher. Vibration is but the flame, Wouldst 
reach the heart beyond the flame? 

Alessandro. It is the goal for which I search. 
Have I lagged, father, when thou hast led? 

Teacher. Not so, my son. 'Tis time that thou 
shouldst lead .... And the way is dark — 

Alessandro. But I shall have thy hand to 
grasp — 



THE FIRST ACT 21 

TEACHER. Not so. . . . We part. 

A1.ESSANDR0. Say you we must part? 

T^ACHiSR. 'Tis so; for none may lean or fol- 
low on the Way, but each must find it for him- 
self — alone. 

AlESSandro. I yet shall have the light of thy 
guidance. The years I've sat to thy hand, the 
wisdom fallen from thy lips shall light the Way 
for me. 

Teacher. Yet shall the Way be dark, my son, 
all dark, save for the Light Within. All outward 
fire is but the test. The light that guides shines 
from the heart — the light that links the outer 
form with the lasting man, the fleeting with the 
Real; this Light alone can lead. 

AlESSANDRO. I have no fear, father. 

Teacher. And when the Way is darkest, say 
to thyself, " I have no fear." To those who have 
no fear no harm can come. 

Ai^ESSANDRO. Than fear, is there no other 
danger ? 

Teacher. None. But thou shalt meet delays. 
None shall escape the Wheel of Rebirth, nor 



22 THE WHITE FLAME 

reach to Nature's Inmost secrets and pay but 
half the price. 

AlEssandro. ril not complain. 

Teacher. I believe thee. For ten years hast 
thou lived well the life, and earned thy every 
step. Has the path seemed long? 

AlESSAndro. I have not measured time. I 
came to you when days were dark, and wild 
emotions tore the flesh. Wrenched from a soul 
that was to me life's counterpart, these silent 
chambers gave me peace. I bowed — and ceased 
to feel. The flesh I have not conquered, but for- 
got, and you have opened fairer visions to my 
inner sight than I had known could be. For ev- 
ery rose of life I've scorned a fairer bloom I've 
found. 

Teacher. And spilled the withered flowers in 
reaching for the new. Thou hast learned that the 
way of form is change. 

Alessandro. But I have not forgotten the es- 
sence of the Rose that thralled my soul and 
senses. Why was it torn away? 

Teacher. Life's test to sift the real from the 



THE FIRST ACT 23 

fleeting — the essence from the bloom, the spirit 
from the form. Men rage because the way of life 
is thus and so, because they may not woo the 
form and win the essence — nor eat their sweets 
and have them. 

AlEssandro. I have sought the essence. 

Teacher. And thou shalt find. It will bloom 
for thee anew. Joy comes in cycles. What has 
been will be again. Cycles of heat and cold and 
joy and pain now rule man's life, till he shall 
learn to fix his heart on that which changes less ; 
till he shall learn to welcome joy and turn deaf 
ear to grief's commotion. But thou, Alessandro, 
hast not set heart upon the Bowl of her you 
lost — or this fine flame would register thy pulse- 
beats and turn to rose or sodden red. 

Alessandro. I drank a deeper draft than lips 
of flesh may taste. I asked of life — perhaps too 
much. 

Teacher. None ask too much, and many ask 
too little, content with husks and flowers that 
wither ere they be fairly plucked. But thou shalt 
drink again. There comes a time — when man's 



24 THE WHITE FLAME 

return to Cosmic Night begins and souls do 
blend again — when separated Rays unite, and 
each soul finds its counterpart. 

Ale:ssandrd. That time! — is long — 

Teacher. There is no time. 

AivESSANDRO. No time? 

Teacher. 'Tis all an everlasting Now. At 
heart of Nature there's no measuring of hours. 
Time's at the rim of life, and all that was or 
shall be lies focused at the core of Things. Time 
measures flesh. But now I go — farewell! 

A1.ESSANDR0. My guide, my friend — oh ! more 
than father you have been to me. And shall we 
meet again? 

Teacher. Beyond all doubt. Such bond as 
ours is not so lightly broken. When the White 
Flame beams upon thee, it shall reveal my out- 
stretched hand. I go. Thy test, the flame — may 
it waver not. 

AlEssandro. Farewell, beloved teacher. I'll 
hail thee soon. 

Teacher. In the White Flame we meet. 

They part. Bxit TeachER. 



THE FIRST ACT 25 

AlESSandro (slowly and meditatively going 
to couch upon which he rests, gathering poise 
before essaying to enter the chamber of the 
White Flame). I'm calm. My mind obeys the 
will. . . . The flame burns steadily. Peace is with 
me. What knowledge waits within? . . . I'll go. 
{Half rising — chant of woman's voice is heard.) 
That voice ! I've heard it in the deeps of silence, 
in night's profoundest hours — and learned to 
drive it 'neath the pulsing flesh .and all its vast 
emotions. 'Tis a sound beyond these ears to hear, 
a chord that vibrates in a subtler world than this. 
I've felt its strength. Its cadences now guide my 
steps to the Portal. {Rises, abstractedly — chant- 
ing grows stronger — he walks slowly toward 
the Altar, his gaze fixed on the portal of the 
White Flame.) The peace and the strength of 
our love, Judith! {Woman enters from right, 
veiled — advances softly toward Altar. He ad- 
vances slozvly, not seeing her. Chanting has 
ceased. Unconsciously they approach each other.) 
I walk as on air. Her spirit leads me. Judith. 

They are now quite close and feel the presence 



26 THE WHITE FLAME 

of each other, though her gaze is fixed intently 
upon the Altar and he sees only the White Flame. 
Both pause. 

AlESSandro (now turns). Ah! . . . (softly) 
Judith! . . . 

Judith. I am Judith (throws aside veil), 

AlESSAndro. And here! What tricks, what 
luring dreams of paradise and glory, do the 
senses lay before me now? 

Judith. Alessandro! It is a vision, but fairer 
than Fd ever hoped to see with eyes of flesh! 

AivESSANDRO. 'Tis she! Judith! my life! 

Judith. O, what strange joy is this? Can 
dead men walk in holy places? 

Alessandro. Judith, the breath of life is in 
me. Our love — ah, this is all a dream, I think : 
then let us dream it out! 

Judith. And pray to wake no more. . . . No, 
no, you must not touch me. Fm sacred to the 
flame; my life is sworn to chastity. I could not 
bear your touch. 

Alessandro. 'Tis but a dream, Judith, a mid- 
night charm of heavenly fancy. We'll waken 



THE FIRST ACT 27 

soon enough. Let's lose no instant of its joy, but 
treasure with a miser's care each faintest throb. 
Eternity were not full pay for instants of thy 
love! Judith, hast thou forgotten? 

Altar Uame wavers and slowly turns to gold, 
diffusing the room with golden light. 

Judith. Forgot! Alessandro! thee — forgot? 
When earth forgets the sun — and roses drink 
no morning dew — thy kisses I'll forget! . . . 
Yet, am I sacred to the flame, my life's fore- 
sworn. I must not dream! . . . And you — ? 

Aiv^sSANDRO. I seek the Way of Light — 
and •— ~ sweet God ! I've found it in your eyes ! 
Worlds were between us — I thought thee dead. 
It was a lie to part us, a trick of life to make me 
earn you ! 

Both irresolute. He clasps her. She struggles 
faintly. Altar light turns to pale rose — light in 
room grows dim-. He hears her to couch. 

Judith. They told me you were slain in the 
war. . . . No, no, this must not be ! The flame — ! 

Alessandro. It is! I only know it is! And 
were there worlds of glory slipping from my 



28 THE WHITE FLAME 

grasp, in thy dear eyes are fairer worlds! 

The rose tint of the Altar Flame deepens. The 
White Light fading. 

Judith. The flame — it darkens ! Ah ! a bright- 
er Hght I see ! But thou — one kiss ! . . . Oh, 
leave me now. I'll follow thee to other worlds 
than flesh; when our two souls may blend. My 
light — and life! . . . Go, vv^hile yet the White 
Flame burns ! 

AIvE:ssandro. There is no whiter light than thy 
pure soul, and in its glow my spirit shall be 
wrapt ! 

White light over portal expires — room is in 
darkness save for deepening rose glow of Altar 
light. 

Judith. Alessandro, my heart! 

Al,ESSandro. Judith ! there is no light but you ! 

The rose hue of the Altar light deepens as the 
Curtain descends. 

end Ot FIRST ACT 



The Second Act 



ACT TWO 

THE EFFECT 

The Time is modern. 

The Scene is in the Egyptian room of a luxurious 
home whose hostess, Mrs. Merton-Blake, is a famous 
collector of Egyptian relics. 

The stage is set as in Act I, except that to left, in 
place of the garlanded couch, are several tiers of 
chairs reaching back into a smaller room that lends 
itself on occasion, in connection with the Egyptian 
room, to an assembly hall in which Mrs. BlakE is 
wont to entertain her friends with parlor talks by 
notable persons of advanced ideas. 

There has just been such a gathering to hear an 
address on Reincarnation by Alexander Rei,ton^ and 
as the curtain rises Mrs. Bi,ake is bidding adieu to a 
few belated auditors. 

In the room also are Janet Hards, spinster, 
spectacled, usually knitting, confirmed materialist, 
companion of Mrs. Bi,akE, familiarly known and loved 
by everybody — wearing a gauze-like shawl that re- 
sembles the veil of Judith's in Act I; and Dr. Plod- 



32 THE WHITE FLAME 

INGER, who has come to think that Reincarnation ex- 
plains Things. 

On the Altar, as in Act I, is a Blue Flame giving 
its tone to the light of the room, and over the impos- 
ing entrance back of the Altar is the same strong 
White Light. 

The lights do not waver or change as in Act Ir 
being merely replicas of the ancient symbols. 

Mrs. BivAKE^ (shaking hands with several de- 
parting guests), I'm so sorry things turned out 
as they did. 

Guest. We enjoyed your discourse very much, 
Mrs. Blake. 

2d Guest. Yes, indeed — perhaps as much as 
we should have enjoyed hearing Mr. Relton, 

3d Guest. How unfortunate that he should 
have been taken ill so suddenly. 

Mrs. BivAKE. I regret it exceedingly, friends, 
I assure you, and I know Mr. Relton is greatly 
distressed over his failure this evening. 

A Guest (as they are going out), I am sure 
we all wish him a speedy recovery. 

Following departure of Guests servants slowly 
and noiselessly remove chairs and place a couch 



THE SECOND ACT 33 

left, making the room still further resemble itself 
in Act. I. 

Doctor. He was not physically ill, I think, 
Mrs. Blake? 

Janet. Too much head work. 

Mrs. Blake. No, he was not physically ill, 
doctor — nor is his trouble mental, as you sup- 
pose, Janet. 

Janet. Is this more mystics, Sara? 

Mrs.' B1.AKE. You may call it that, or any- 
thing. Names don't count. But I must tell you 
about Alexander. You saw him turn pale as he 
looked about in this room — 

Doctor. Why, he staggered — almost fell as 
he stood before this ghostly relic. 

Janet. And he left your assembly without a 
word — almost rude, I thought — but he is a 
good sort at heart, I am sure, Sara? 

Mrs. Blake. Doctor — Janet — I have a sus- 
picion — but let me think it out a little first. 
(Observes that servants have finished arranging 
room.) There, as the room is now arranged, it 
almost exactly duplicates the chamber in the 



34 THE WHITE FLAME 

Pyramid from which these relics were taken. 

Janet. How do you know that, Sara? 

Mrs. Bi<AKE. I was there with the exploring 
party, my dear, and we took a flashlight of the 
room before dismantling it. 

Doctor. And these lights — ? 

Mrs. Blake. One doesn't study these things 
for years without learning something. They com- 
plete the picture now, but for the ancients they 
played deeply significant parts and were of prac- 
tical use. . . . Now, I am wondering . . . could 
Alexander have seen this altar and its light — 
this very room — before? 

Doctor. How impossible, since he has only 
just returned from his long visit to India, and 
you have had these relics but a few weeks. 

Janet. Why, what are you thinking of, Sara? 
You didn't even have an Egyptian room when 
Mr. Relton lived here. 

Mrs. Blake. Oh, I mean — yes, you are go- 
ing to laugh at me — I mean could he have seen 
them in times past, in other ages — but there, I 
have said so much, I must say more. 



THE SECOND ACT 35 

Doctor. Do, by all means. I will try to keep 
Janet quiet, and I — well, I have ceased to laugh 
at things merely because they are outside my ex- 
perience. 

Janet. You can't laugh; you're too old. But 
ril be still. Tell us, Sara. 

Mrs. Blake. Alexander's mother married a 
New Yorker who spent much of his time in In- 
dia—had an estate, or something, at Adyar. 
Alexander was born, and his father died there. 

Doctor. Was the son educated in India? 

Mrs. Blake. Partly there, and partly in this 
country. His mother was my distant cousin, but 
closest friend. When she came to live here with 
me, in the early days of her widowhood, our old 
time friendship grew more intimate. Now come 
close and listen : Alexander was a peculiar child. 
He had visions and such. All through his boy- 
hood he talked of strange things, of things he 
had seen and known before he was born. 

Janet. Umph! He needed exercise. 

Mrs. Blake. And in his wandering talks he 
often spoke the name of a woman or girl — Ju- 



36 THE WHITE FLAME 

dith, I think it was — whom he sought as a play- 
mate. His poor mother worried over this a great 
deal, but his father, who was a student of the 
Eastern philosophies, rather encouraged the boy, 
and said his vagaries were the dim recollections 
of past incarnations, the memory of events and 
experiences of former lives. 

Jankt. Poor woman — husband and son both 
crazy ! 

Doctor. Oh, not so crazy, perhaps. Anyway, 
Janet, I promised that you would keep still. 

Jane:t. But I can't when such folly is taken 
so seriously. 

Doctor. I don't see much folly in this. Such 
things do happen. I have met similar cases in 
my practice. 

Jane:t. What did you prescribe — belladonna, 
or morphine? 

Doctor. I listened and tried to learn some- 
thing. 

Mrs. Blakk. Now, Janet. 

Janet. Oh, I'm all attention. It really is in- 
teresting. 



THE SECOND ACT 37 

Doctor. Do you mean to connect these child- 
hood visions with the occurrence of this evening, 
Mrs. Blake — his all but fainting as he entered 
this strange, weird room of yours? 

Mrs. Blake:. Of course, Doctor, I am only 
guessing. Suppose this room and its ancient 
trappings suggested a former and a similar scene 
to him. This room just as it is now furnished 
was an Inner Chamber of a school of life and 
philosophy. The mysteries of life and death, the 
plan of nature, and the course of evolution were 
taught in these secret halls of the Pyramids. 

Doctor. There were great Adepts in those 
days, it is said. 

Janet. What is that, Doctor — an Adept? 

Doctor. One who has kept still and listened 
for a good many ages, until he has learned a 
great deal more than some noisy people ever will. 

Mrs. Blake. Don't be so hard on Janet, Doc- 
tor. 

Doctor. I feel responsible for her. All her 
materialism she imbibed out of the books I am 
now regretful of having written. 



38 THE WHITE FLAME 

Jane^T. The conceit! 

Mrs. Bi^akE. Some of us learn as we grow 
older. 

Janet. Umph. They need to. 

Mrs. Bi^AKE. I think even Janet could learn 
from Alexander Relton. He has made the sub- 
ject of Reincarnation a life study, and the rea- 
sonable and simple way in which he presents it 
is very convincing. There, that's his footstep. 
{Enter Ai^exander^ averting his gaze from al- 
tar.) I'm so glad you feel well enough to rejoin 
us, dea — {correcting herself — but JanET no- 
tices) — to rejoin us, Alexander. 

Alexander. Oh, I wasn't ill, dear Mrs. 
Blake — and Miss Hards — Doctor {hawing to 
them, taking hostess* hands frankly). 

Doctor. Not seriously, at any rate, I hope. 

Alexander. An emotional derangement, I 
should call it, Doctor. And I am heartily ashamed 
of it. {Looks fearlessly toward Altar, hut qua^ 
vers a little.) I feel that I owe you all a sincere 
apology. It was a weak, childish thing. I can 
scarcely understand my own weakness, and cer- 
tainly not excuse it. 



THE SECOND ACT 39 

Mrs. Blake {significantly) . It was something 
far stronger than a passing emotion, Alexander. 
Come, tell us about it. We are all comrades here. 

Alexander. No, seriously, Mrs. Blake, I can't 
explain it any other way than as emotional — 
well, shall I say, insanity? 

Doctor. With the same seriousness and frank- 
ness, Alexander, I should not call it insanity. 

Alexander. But my mental processes were 
entirely inactive. Indeed, that was my fault. The 
mind should have been held to its post of duty. 
When the mind is lax all sorts of curious things 
creep into one's life. 

Mrs. Blake. But there are things — forces, 
events, beyond the control of the mind, Alexan- 
der, are there not? 

Alexander. Undoubtedly, as you women know 
better than men, but I am skeptical of my own 
present power to reach them. We live in an in- 
tellectual age. We worship reason, and I think 
we must prove all our knowledge by reason. 

Mrs. Blake. But your experience when you 
first entered this room — Is it painful for me to 
recall it? 



40 THE WHITE FLAME 

Alexander. I have scarcely tried to account 
for it on other than emotional grounds. I have 
no other clew — the blue air here, the strange yet 
familiar room — the dreaminess of the scene as 
I first entered — it stirred deeply — I had seen it 
before — oh, what do I say ? — I don't know — 
I haven't reasoned it out yet — I am not reason- 
ably sure of anything, sometimes. 

Mrs. Blake. Nor will reason alone ever en- 
able you to be sure of anything, Alexander. 

Doctor. It rather proves things to us, I think. 
I would certainly repel any idea or feeling that 
I could not rationalize. 

Alexander. That is the way I feel about Re- 
incarnation, Doctor. Personal experience and in- 
tuitions are valueless as proof save to the indi- 
vidual who may have experienced them, and in 
my own case, at least, I distrust them all iniless 
I can rationalize them. 

Janet. You don't mean to say you can ration- 
alize this idea of Reincarnation, do you, now? 

Doctor. She was quiet for a long while. 

Alexander. If I could not reason it out step 
by step I certainly would not advocate it as a 



THE SECOND ACT 41 

solution of the problems of life, however much I 
might privately hold to it. 
Doctor. Nothing else seems to explain life. 
Mrs. Blak^. Life is but a hideous nightmare 
for the millions if Reincarnation is not true. O, 
when I think of its terrible inequalities, its 
crimes, its prisons, its slums, and its palaces — 
Janist, You are ready to take wings and fly 
away with your Reincarnation notions. 

Mrs. BivAKE. It is you materialists who would 
fly from the world and its troubles, instead of 
remaining here and helping to right them. You 
and the Christians propose to go away from earth 
for ever at the end of seventy years or so. 

Doctor. Yes. The Christian spends his eter- 
nity in heaven or in hell, and the materialist 
spends his in the dreamless sleep of the grave. 

A1.EXANDER. Both ideas are essentially the 
same. Modern materialism echoes the old Chris- 
tian theology in declaring that man is only a 
transient guest on this earth, that he comes here 
at birth, remains for a few years, and then goes 
away for ever. 



42 THE WHITE FLAME 

Doctor. And that is why earth is the hell of 
turmoil and misery that it is. Man's treasures 
are laid away somewhere else, and where his 
treasures are there is his heart. 

Alexander. When the rational side of Rein- 
carnation is thoroughly understood by you social 
reformers (to Janet) and men realize that this 
earth is their permanent home for many, many 
ages, then we will see more serious and united 
efforts made toward bettering its conditions. 
Paradise is not entirely a dream, but a true sym- 
bol of a social state that shall one day exist on 
this earth — 

Janet, who has been bending over her knit- 
ting, shrugs her shoulders derisively — then he- 
comes interested, sits back and raises her glasses 
above her eyes, 

Mrs. Blake. When the heart and mind arc 
really focussed upon this earth, instead of some 
distant sphere. 

Janet. Oh, shucks! children. When you're 
dead you're dead all over. Fve seen many a 
corpse. . . . Where did I put my glasses? 



THE SECOND ACT 43 

(searching for spectacles.) Now, if we have 
lived before why don't we remember it? 

Doctor (taking glasses from her forehead 
and handing them to her) . Here are your glasses, 
Janet, and here is the answer to your question 
why we don't remember. Why didn't you re- 
member where you put your glasses? 

Janet. I was thinking of a man, I suppose. 
You were talking. Tell me, why didn't I remem- 
ber? 

Doctor. Because your mind was on something 
else. We remember that upon which the mind is 
centered. We don't recall our former lives be- 
cause from infancy our minds are centered upon 
the petty details of this life. 

Mrs. Blake. Well, I think some people re- 
member some things (with a glance to Alexan- 
der). 

Alexander. It may be, Mrs. Blake ; but it is 
improbable in our materialistic times, and cer- 
tainly unreliable as proof of the fact of Reincar- 
nation. 

Doctor. But you don't deny the possibility? 



44 THE WHITE FLAME 

A1.EXANDER. No ; many improbable things hap- 
pen continually. 

Doctor. Or that two people could recognize 
each other, from some strong attachment in a 
former life — ? 

Alexande:r. Why, nothing is impossible. But 
they would hardly recognize each other from any 
physical recollection, for surely the bodies in 
which they reside must be greatly dissimilar to 
those of a previous life. 

Doctor. Well, not so greatly, perhaps. There 
would be characteristics, even mannerisms, car- 
ried over — and then such a recognition, if it oc- 
curred, would not be physical. We feel each 
other. We instinctively like or dislike this or that 
person we meet for the first time. 

AivEXANDER {speaking rather abruptly). Oh, 
if an attachment in one life were founded on 
something more than a surface affection. If a 
love or a friendship were much deeper than the 
physical, if it existed on a more lasting plane 
than that of sensation — affection, or emotion — 
if it were rooted in the reincarnating natures of 



THE SECOND ACT 45 

them — if it were a friendship or a love of the 
soul — why, it would carry over. It does, I am 
sure. And no doubt we in this room are drawn 
together by some such pre-existing bond. 

Janet. How delightful! Then we are all soul 
affinities. 

Mrs. BlakE. Horrors ! I hope not — not since 
the newspapers have got hold of the word and 
degraded a term that really was expressive of 
something more than a physical passion. 

AivSXANDER. Well, I am going back to the 
library now, good people. I only came down- 
stairs because I felt I owed you all an apology 
for my rudeness. 

Mrs. Blake. We knew it was unintentional, 
Alexander. 

Doctor. I'll go with you, old man. Au revoir, 
ladies. 

As the two men go out AIvExander deliber- 
ately stares at Altar, hesitates a moment — is al- 
most overcome — controls himself, and goes 
slowly out after Doctor. 

Mrs. Blake. There's something very deep in 



46 THE WHITE FLAME 

all this, Janet. Alexander is mentally a very 
strong man. I wish I could remember more of 
his youthful wanderings . . . (softly) this Ju- 
dith! 

Janet. Oh, you remember enough of them, 
dear. Come back to earth now. He looks much 
better and stronger since his return. And he's 
so convincing in his manner — I could almost 
believe him. . . . Do you know, Sara, dear (put- 
ting arms about her), there are times when I 
think you are almost sane! 

Mrs. Blake. Janet, you're going to say some- 
thing that you ought n't to. 

Janet. I'm going to say that you are in love 
with Alexander, and — 

Mrs. Blake (unconvincingly) . Why, Janet, 
how absurd. 

Janet. And you are not to deny it — to me, 
dear, because I know. 

Mrs. Blake. Why, I'm almost as old as his 
mother would have been! 

Janet. And you would like to remember your- 
self as his mythical " Judith " — and you would 



THE SECOND ACT 47 

have done so long ago if you were not so dis- 
tressingly honest with yourself. 

Mrs. Bi.AK^. You're imagining things, dear. 

Janet. No, Fm a sign reader — that's all. 

Mrs. Blake:. Isn't he fine? 

Janet. If I were silly like some people I think 
I could fall in love with him myself. And if I 
did, do you know what I'd do? 

Mrs. Blake. No; tell me. 

Janet. I'd just go and get him. He's help- 
less. Every man is. 

Mrs. Blake. Don't say any more, dear. Let 
me dream a bit. 

Janet. I wonder why Julia was not here this 
afternoon. She is far too sensible to take all this 
kind of talk seriously. 

Mrs. Blake. What kind of talk, Janet? 

Janet. Oh, all this talk about leaving one's 
body instead of just calmly dying in the good 
old-fashioned way. 

Bnter Julia Liston. She stops at threshold 
to throw aside wrappings . . . stares as one 
dazed. Tries to speak and cannot. 



48 THE WHITE FLAME 

Mrs. Blake. Oh, there you are. You are al- 
most late, Julia. 

JuuA. O — I — (faints: is carried to lounge 
at left Recovers quickly, but talks wanderingly). 
I thought you dead, Alessandro. . . . leave 
me. ... I am wedded to the flame. O! . . . 
this is still the dream — Alessandro ! (mild hys- 
terics for a moment — then calms and completely 
responds to the ministration of the two ladies,) 

Mrs. Blake. Whatever is the matter, dear? 

Julia. Just a sudden dizziness, I think. 

Janet. No such thing. It's that old Altar and 
these queer trappings here. They're enough to 
give anyone the willies. 

Mrs. Blake. Janet! 

Janet. Oh, they are. And you are not the 
first to see them and then go into — 

Mrs. Blake. Now, Janet, be still! 

Julia. I am tired — may I go and lie down a 
bit? 

Mrs. Blake. Indeed you must, dear. Dinner 
won't be ready for an hour yet. Janet, please, 
you take her upstairs (to Janet aside), and not 



THE SECOND ACT 49 

a word of this afternoon. Keep her mind off the 
subject. 

Janet. You dear thing; come along now. It's 
just a rest you want before dinner. {Throws her 
shawl over Julia.) 

Julia {quite weak, hut smiling). I feel as if 
I could never want to eat again. You know I 
walked so much today. I am quite weak {evi- 
dently unwilling to admit the real cause of her 
faintness.) Both exit. 

Mrs. Blake. What does this all mean? I seem 
to be on the verge of a precipice down which my 
entire household is to topple . . . Julia thus af- 
fected by these relics! What can it mean? Oh, 
I am the most unfortunate of women to be the 
innocent cause of so much distress . . . Can it 
be? . . . She and Alexander! . . . No, no — 
that is romance , . . possibility, not realization 
in our prosaic lives. Because a thing might hap- 
pen — because I know that loves and friendships 
do outlast this Longer Sleep we call death . . . 
Is she? . . . they two! . . . then — is my — 
dream over? {Enter Janet) Her strange words 



50 THE WHITE FLAME 

— " I am wed to the Light — " 

Janet. It's a Red Light that she is wed to, 
rU be bound. 

Mrs. B1.AKE. What do you mean, Janet? 

Janet. Just about what I said, Sara. A shin- 
ing light in the Red Light district — if the half 
they say of him be only half true. 

Mrs. BivAKE. Oh, you mustn't say such things, 
Janet. 

Janet. Of course I don't, only to you, Sara. 

Mrs. Blake. It is not for you or me to judge. 

Janet. Oh, I don't know — don't know. If 
it is for her to bear, it is for me to speak my 
mind about it. 

Mrs. Blake. But not too loud — the serv- 
ants — 

Janet. Shucks! There isn't a servant on the 
avenue that doesn't know all about it. Why 
doesn't she get a divorce? 

Mrs. Blake. The publicity — the newspapers 

— the scandal of it all! And only a few years 
ago it was a love match. He was so devoted; a 
little wild — but, oh, what the years do bring! 



THE SECOND ACT 51 

Janet. They were soul affinities — I guess 
not. She'd better brave the scandal and pubHcity 
and have done with it all. I'd shov/ him if I were 
^ in her shoes. 

Mrs. Bi<AKE. But Julia is a woman, dear — 
just a woman, a woman clear through. You and 
I are part men, I sometimes think. At any rate 
we have the masculine attitude of mind. We can 
go out and fight our way in the world. Julia is 
different. She would rather relinquish it. 

Janet. And she runs a good chance of doing 
it, at this rate. Whatever can be the matter with 
her ? She's completely upset by this room and its 
outlandish trappings. 

Mrs. B1.AKE. Could it be that this scene awak- 
ens ancient memories in her, too? Janet, dear, 
life has some order and meaning, even to you, 
hasn't it? It isn't all but a jumble of coinci- 
dences — is it? 

Janet. Oh, I'm almost ready to admit any- 
thing, Sara — even a personal God. I wish there 
was one. I'd ask him to be good to Julia Liston. 
She's the mustard, now, isn't she? 



52 THE WHITE FLAME 

Mrs. Blak^. Where do you get your strange 
slang, Janet? . . . But we must see about the 
dinner. Come . . . Oh, at dinner they will meet 1 

Both exit 

Enter Julia (shawl about shoulders). I could 
not rest ... I must see this place again, it has 
a strange fascination for me ... it draws my life 
back, back — to what I know not . . . This al- 
tar, its blue flame ! Oh, what vague but real pic- 
tures do I see! ... I feel as though I were 
thousands of years old ... as though I were 
not encumbered with this body and its coarse de- 
mands . . . Oh, I love this room — this altar-— 
these surroundings (is walking slowly about Al- 
tar — looks toward lounge — stops) Ah! (con^ 
fused, amazed, delighted with whole scene — 
finds words incapable of expressing her feelings. 
Involuntarily she puts the shawl over head and 
stands near the Altar as in Act I.) 

Enter Alexander. I must see this room alone. 
What strange emotions it awakens in me! Are 
they only emotions? Have I reached no further 
into life than to be swayed and torn by emotions ? 



THE SECOND ACT 53 

. . , One might tell himself the truth, perhaps — 
and the truth is I have stood at this altar before. 
Its blue flame has registered my calmness . . . 
Yes — yes — I recall — and the flame wavered 
and turned to rose! . . . Did it sputter out, I 
wonder? And the White Flame . . . Ah! 'twas 
only yesterday ... I have been asleep — I have 
dreamed . . . Time, thou art a cheat. And Ju- 
dith, Judith . . . O, my Teacher, I can not en- 
ter the White Flame alone! Judith! I have 
searched the world for you ! — the White Flame 
beckons us. . . . O, this strange confusion of the 
dream! Here we met by this altar (turns to 
couch) Judith ! — here we left the White Flame 
and went back to the walks of men ! Judith, you 
went from me to find the Grail! . . . But we 
shall find it together ! . . . You are near me . . . 
Judith! (turns) 

Julia. I am Judith — who calls? (unveils) 
Alessandro ! 

Alexander. Judith! (They are face to face, 
as in Act. I. Silence for a moment.) This is not 
dreaming — this is reality! Judith, did we sin? 



54 THE WHITE FLAME 

I cannot think so — but we have wandered far. 

JuiviA. Alessandro, my life! I am waking 
from a nightmare. This is the real. 

Both seem dazed — they are living in the past, 
oblivious to the interval of time. 

A1.EXANDER. Have we been apart? . . . Ju- 
dith, I have waited for you — how long I don't 
know — is it centuries or only moments? . . . 
These intervening dreams were interminable. 
{Takes her by the hand and leads her to couch.) 
I dreamed of Persia — and you were there. Oh, 
the dreams come back! In later Egypt we 
walked hand in hand — in Athens we wooed and 
wed each other. . . . What dreams, what dreams 
come tumbling now from caverns of the past! 
What dreams — to mystify — no, to explain this 
moment And our bond — is it less ? 

JuuA. It could not be more, Alessandro. It 
is the same. We both seek the White Flame — 
let us go. {They rise as if to go to door over 
which is the White Light.) 

Enter Mrs. Bi^ake {in doorway of White 
Flame.) Judith — your husband is here. 



THE SECOND ACT 55 

Julia (with great struggle coming back to the 
present). My husband! Oh, which is the dream 
and which the waking? 

Alexander (dismayed). Judith, did I hear 
aright? Your — 

Julia. Yes, dear . . . but don't speak it. 

Mrs. Blake (holding door open for Alexan- 
der and motioning him toward her) . I could not 
stop him, JuHa. He is tipsy — he is coming here. 

Julia. No, no ; don't let him come in this 
room. I will go. 

Alexander (about to pass out through door 
of White Light, halts) No; it is but an empty 
symbol now — in this part of our dream (look- 
ing intently at Light), but I will not enter it 
alone. (Retraces steps and goes out through 
door with Julia, who is going to left. They 
pause in doorway. He raises her hand to his 
lips.) They exit in opposite directions. 

Mrs. Blake (with bowed head at Altar). 
Life's tragedy! 

end of second act 



The Third oAct 



ACT THREE 

ADJUSTMEJNT 

Time — A few hours later than preceding Act — to- 
ward early morning. 

Scene — The same. As the Curtain rises the room 
is in darkness save for dim light from a street lamp 
whose rays cross the hallway in the rear and pen- 
etrate faintly the Egyptian room through partly drawn 
curtains of left upper entrance. 

Mrs. BivAke and Jui.ia enter, both in dressing gown 
and slippers, with hair loosely arranged as for the 
night. Mrs. Bi,ak^ carries a taper with which she 
ignites the Blue Flame on the Altar. 

Jui,iA*s loosely flowing robes very closely resemble 
those worn by her in the First Act. 

Both women carry a bed covering with which Mrs. 
BtAKE proceeds to improvise a bed for Juua on the 
couch. 



6o THE WHITE FLAME 



Mrs. Bi^AKE (giving -final touches to impro- 
vised bed) — There, my dear, )^ou will sleep as 
soundly, and dream as fantastically, as in your 
own room. 

Julia has been standing silently at the Altar. 

Mrs. BivAKE^ comes and leads her to couch. 

Julia (sitting on couch). Am I very silly, 
dear, to want to sleep in this room — just this 
once? In the morning my dreams will be over 
and I shall go back to the old life that now seems 
so unreal — or else — 

Mrs. Blak^. Or else — What is the alterna- 
tive, my dear? 

Julia. The prince of my dreams will come 
and carry me away. 

Mrs. Blake. Alexander? 

Julia. So runs my dream. 

Mrs. Blaki^. May all your dreams come true, 
Julia (stroking her hair). Now I am going to 
leave you. Shall I lock the door? 



THE THIRD ACT 6i 

JuuA. Why? 

Mrs. Blake. He might come here. 

Julia. And you would lock him out — and 
spoil my dream! 

Mrs. Blake. But think, dear, this is impossi- 
ble—you are scarcely acquainted, 

Julia. You are wrong, Sara; I have known 
him all my life, and in many lives before. 

Mrs. Blake. Yes, in other lives; it seems 
true : but now — in this life . . . ? 

Julia. He came to me out of the ideal world 
— where there is no time, Sara. Though but an 
hour ago we knew each other's touch for the 
first time in this life, always have we known each 
other in the real world — always! 

Mrs. Blake. This is a wonderful tale, Julia, 
wonderful and beautiful, as your own sweet self 
has always been to me. . . . And you are the 
woman of his dreams ... 
Julia. His dreams? 

Mrs. Blake. I knew his mother: she told me 
much . . . 



62 THE WHITE FLAME 

Julia. Oh, he has dreamed ... as I have 
dreamed ... it must be so, for we have been 
together ... 

Mrs. BIvAkE. Do you remember him vividly 
from the past, from a time that is really remote, 
Julia? 

Julia. From a past so remote I cannot calcu- 
late it — yet a past that seems more close and 
real than yesterday. In many times and nations 
we have been together in the Daylight of life, 
and always in those intervals of Night that men 
call death. I have borne him sons and daughters. 
We have lived and died together — and suffered 
and enjoyed, as men and women do — but these 
were incidents. The great fact of my life is the 
bond between us that nothing has severed, or 
can sever — not even time — nor the scorn and 
coarseness of the world that lives by weight and 
measure. 

Mrs. Blake^ (aside). Is this the truth of my 
own philosophy — or a mad woman's ravings ? 

Julia. I know what you are thinking, Sara. 
The outer world of sensation bears heavily even 



THE THIRD ACT 63 

on you who have kept your reason enthroned 
without bowing to the idols of wood and stone. 
But I am baring my inner life to you — and only 
telling you what you have often said were pos- 
sible and reasonable. 

Mrs. BivAKE^. You gave us no hint of such 
depth and wealth of memories in your life, dear. 
I thought you clever and deep and strong, but 
practical 

Jui^iA. Since I have known you I have been 
dazed, and more asleep in my waking hours than 
at night. I have cared to talk of nothing real. 
Society taught me to chatter of dress and the 
weather. 

Mrs. BivAKE. Tell me more of this strange, 
strange thing. 

JuWA. It is not strange, only as the heart of 
life is always strange to the outer crust. Every- 
one has a hidden life that is more real than the 
life of the senses. 

Mrs. Blake. Tell me of your first meeting, 
dear — if I don't weary you. 

Julia. I can't remember so far back as that. 



64 THE WHITE FLAME 

Always, always I knew him. Once we were al- 
ways together. Then we seemed to separate, 
wider and wider — the bodies in which we dwelt 
in the external world walked apart — O, for 
weary ages, it seemed. And then we met — here, 
in this very room — in Egypt — only yesterday. 
That chapter in my life is the most vivid of all. 
Listen, Sara, I was the guardian of that light — 
I was the virgin of the temple — and we met, 
and blended, as two rays unite. And there was a 
long, long rest — together. ... It was night to the 
world, but the brightest Day to life — and when 
and how it closed, this saddle of the flesh bears 
too heavily for me to recall. But the Ray split 
again, and we came back to live with men and 
search the world over for each other. Perhaps 
we sinned before this altar — perhaps it was but 
the v/ay of Things. I am no philosopher, Sara. 
Mrs. BiwAKE. In the real world there is no sin. 
So much my reason tells me. We act thus and 
so because our lives demand it — and the goal is 
the same. You have grown faster than the rest 
of us, JuHa — 



THE THIRD ACT 65 

Julia. Not faster, but differently. Must every 
soul be drawn along the same trail ? It is enough, 
I think, that we all suffer. If I have learned a 
different lesson in the ages, Sara, it is because I 
have lived much in a perfect light — the light of 
union. . . . But, O, the darkness that has fallen, 
and the numbness of my soul in those intervals 
when I have wandered alone ! To know, to real- 
ize the ideal — and then to lose ! — to grope -— 
(turns away, in silence). 

Mrs. Bi^AKi: (after a pause, softly). There 
were other lives between this period in Egypt 
and today? 

Julia. Many of them, I think, but only in the 
deepest silence of the night can I recall their in- 
cidents. In many lands we have lived — 

Mrs. Blak^. And always together? 

Julia. Not always. And those times — those 
years, those lives, or centuries perhaps, when we 
were separated — those I do not know ; of them 
I have no memory because they were not real. I 
am not complete without him. I am but half the 
Ray. All my real existence has been in him. 



66 THE WHITE FLAME 

Mrs. Bi,AK:e. That is self-effacement and 
sounds like the Mussulman's faith, Julia, which 
says that a woman can only gain heaven by cling- 
ing to her husband's robe. 

JuwA. There could be no heaven apart from 
him — nor any real life. And what is the end of 
all living but self-effacement, a forgetting of the 
ever-changing personal aims in the larger and 
more lasting aims of the impersonal? Oh, why 
must every v/oman walk and talk and think as 
every other woman? Do I not know my own 
soul at least better than another may know it? 
The needs, the cravings of my own nature, 
should I not know them better than another ? . . . 
All my younger years I spent apart from my 
surroundings, living far away — with him. 

Mrs. Bi,akE. In the past. It were surely 
wrong to live in the past. 

Jui^iA. Not in the past, Sara. Only since our 
meeting now has the past come before me so viv- 
idly. . . . And yet — was it in the future ? I 
can't tell. ... It was apart, in a different realm 
— a brighter, fairer world than this. Day and 



THE THIRD ACT 67 

night my son! mingled with his in this other 
realm. 

Mrs. BiyAKE:. Another realm — here, in this 
Da3i:ime of our life ? You have reached it, Julia ? 

JuwA. Oh, the world is very big, very big, 
Sara — far beyond the city streets, and the hills, 
and the sea! It has realms of depth and height 
and brightness. There are other and keener fac- 
ulties than the senses — you know there are ; ev- 
ery woman knows there are. . . . We walked 
the clouds of this ideal world, hand-in-hand — 
until the pressure of my home life became too 
great. As I grew to womanhood I began to leave 
the cloudlands, and slowly, reluctantly — and O, 
how bitter was the descent ! — I came to busy 
myself with the tangible and trivial things of life. 

Mrs. BivAKE^. You had your part to play in 
life, like all of us. 

JuuA. Yes; that is what they all say: my — 
part — in — life ! And everyone knew better what 
that part was than did I. Well, well, I have 
played it — or played at it. The world ought to 
be satisfied now and let me alone. 



68 THE WHITE FLAME 

Mrs. Blake. Forgive me, Julia, I do not mean 
to add my counsel to that of the world. You had 
a right to be yourself. 

Jui,iA. And the world denied that right at ev- 
ery step of my life. I was molten, and the world 
an earthen mold into which my surroundings 
forced me. 

Mrs. Blake. The hardest thing in life to learn 
is to let others alone. It is the last thing that 
even radicals learn, when they do learn it, that 
everyone's viewpoint is right — for him or her. 

JuuA. Because the world doesn't see that the 
motive of life is a secret known only to each 
soul. I am told that I must be useful to the 
world, but how can I be of use to anyone when 
my life is bent and tortured? Oh, I am tired, 
tired of it all, and if the prince does not come 
for me — . But he will come, now that we have 
found each other in the external world again. 
He will find me here, waiting — 

Mrs. Blake. But — here — why, it isn't prop- 
er, dear! 

Julia. Not proper that Alexander and I should 



THE THIRD ACT 69 

be together? Why, then, it's not proper that the 
sun should warm the earth. I do not love this 
man, dear. It is much more than that. I am just 
a natural part of him. He is incomplete without 
me, and I, apart — I am but waiting. 

Mrs. Blake. But you married? 

JuuA (bitterly). I did. That was your pro- 
priety, your convention. I was weak — and alone. 
I had to share the sins and griefs of this age, I 
suppose. I forgot my real life. I was overborne 
by the set purpose of other people to shape my 
life for me. I yielded — married. See what it 
has come to, Sara. I am tired of the mean and 
petty purposes of life. I wish I could never wake 
again — or else — 

Mrs. Blake. That the prince may carry you 
away? But there are no princes in real life, 
dearie — and then, I can't let Alexander come in 
here and find you like this — can I? Think how 
contrary it is to our ideas of things. 

Julia. But you don't say it would be wrong, 
Sara — you can't say that. And why should I 
care for social usages that have done nothing but 



70 THE WHITE FLAME 

drag me down from the ideals of my girlhood — 
{Half rising — fearfully) Sara, dear, Sara — 
O, you will not keep the prince away from me? 
He will come — I know he will. You won't, you 
won't lock the door? 

Mrs. Bi,AKE. I — won't — lock — the door. 
Sleep if you can, dear. Dream as you will. Per- 
haps you are right. Would that I had strength 
to guide my own heart. Good-night, dear; I am 
going. {As she goes softly toward exit she meets 
Ai^ExandEr in the doorway. He is surprised to 
-find her there and is about to turn back. She mo- 
tions to him to remain and points toward couch, 
then goes out.) 

AivEXANDER {goes to couch) I knew I should 
find you here, Judith. 

JuuA. I knew you would come. 

Ai^EXANDER. My queen of the ages! . . . and 
now . . . ? 

JuuA. We must not part again. You will take 
me away from this life, Alessandro? 

Alexander. I must go back to India. 

JuwA. Ah, there is poetry in the name for me. 



THE THIRD ACT 71 

We have lived there — long ago — Alessandro? 

Ai^^XANDER. Long ago, as you say; but now 
that I hold your hand in mine and once more 
find my better self in the depths of your eyes, 
there seems to be no long ago, no past — it is all 
now — a long vista of the present. 

JUI.IA. Yes ; I see it that way — eternity stretch- 
ing out in a vast circle of brightness . . . broken, 
spotted with dark blotches. 

Ai^iexANDER. Those spots of darkness — they 
are the days, or the years, when we were apart. 

JuuA. Look steadily at the circle of our lives 
— see, the dark spots are not so numerous. 

AlExandeJr. No — we have been much to- 
gether, even when separated bodily. 

JuijA. And the time will come — the time will 
come — 

AlExande:r. When all the black spots shall 
vanish. 

Julia. Do you see that long black gash so 
close to us ? 

Alexander. The gulf that we have just 
crossed ? 



y2 THE WHITE FLAME 

Julia. It seems bigger and blacker than all 
the others. 

Alexander. Because it is closer, dear. 

Julia. I was groping in the dark. I must have 
forgotten you. 

Alexander. No, no ; it was I who forgot you. 
I spent a wild year in Europe — and lost you — 

Julia. You could not lose me. It was I that 
was untrue to my ideal. You were the dream 
lover of my early days, but — 

Alexander. You lived in a world that pil- 
lories the dreamer. I know. 

Julia. And all about me were practical peo- 
ple. I was scolded, derided. I must lead the 
strenuous life. I must marry and fill a woman's 
sphere. I must think of my duty to parents, to 
society, to posterity — to everything and to ev- 
erybody except to myself. Myself — I was noth- 
ing. My inner, true self — O, it had no exist- 
ence for those whose fancied duty it was to 
shape me. 

Alexander. I know, Judith, I know. And the 
world bent your will, as it bent mine for a time. 



THE THIRD ACT 73 

I yielded — it was that year you married. 

JuuA. Yes; and I let myself sink into a life 
of emotion and sensation. Should I have strug- 
gled more — ? 

AivSxANDER. No, Life led you true. To strug- 
gle, to breast the cosmic tide — that is the real 
madness, the lure of the petty advantage, from 
the greater and more enduring harmony. You 
took on the burden of your time and people, dear 
woman. It was inevitable. There is no other 
door that opens to the White Flame — and we 
still seek it — Judith? 

Julia. Long ago, and often, I besought you 
to leave me, to seek the Master in the White 
Flame. But you are gloriously stubborn, Ales- 
sandro. 

Alexander. You mean gloriously true, Ju- 
dith. But it isn't so. I am only self-seeking. You 
are the higher part of me. The years have taught 
me something. Once I essayed to enter alone — 
I did not know. And Life was kind to me and 
closed the Door. Now we go together. 

JuuA. Be it so . . . as one! 



74 THE WHITE FLAME 

Alexander. As one. 

There is a pause in the dialogue. 

JuuA. Tomorrow — Alessandro? 

AivEXANDER (struggling). I must return to 
my work in India. 

JuuA. Alone? 

Alexander (rises — paces the room. He is 
uncertain — finally, with vehemence). Who is 
there to deny us — to say that we should not go 
together ? 

JUI.IA. None. 

Alexander. Your husband? 

Julia. There was never a real bond between 
us, and he has been out of my life for years. 

Alexander. Then there is only the social 
mandate. It cannot count in real life. (Medita- 
tively) When men shall frame their customs on 
natural rules, then shall they bind. (To Julia.) 
Judith, we go together. We shall find the Way 
to the White Flame in India. 

There is a pause. 

Julia (slowly — abstractedly). I knew the 
prince would come . . . and bear me away . . . 



THE THIRD ACT 75 

(The first faint ray of daylight steals into the 
room and falls aslant the couch. She turns tozvard 
the light.) I see far into the light, Alessandro, 
and what I see . . . oh, (slowly) I see that we 
shall not find the White Flame in India . . . 

Alexander. Not find it? How — 

Julia. Not in India. 

Alexander (goes to her, takes her hand, and 
tries to see in the faint beam of light the picture 
that she is evidently struggling to translate.) 
Another dark spot — ? 

Julia. I cannot tell. My inner eyes are weak 
. . , O, I see the White Flame — it does not 
fuse the flesh. We seek the impossible. Only the 
souls of men may enter it. . . . (Turning to 
him) O, must you go to India, Alessandro — 
must you go? 

Alexander. My life work is there. I must. . . . 
I could not hope to gain you by shirking it. 

Julia (looking back to the light). The prince 
leaves me — another gulf yawns. ... O, for a 
brighter light, or a keener vision to see beyond it ! 

Alexander. It shall not be, Judith. We will 



76 THE WHITE FLAME 

take life in our own hands. It shall not be \ 

JuuA (sinking back on couch). What I saw 
was blurred — and dim. Must it be that we part 
again ? 

Alexander. No, no, no! Your eyes say No 
to me, Judith — your heart beats No ! {stroking 
her hair) The scent of your hair quickens my 
will. You are the Cosmic Woman to me — spirit, 
soul, and body. Judith, the soul of you lures me 
as it always did. In the depths of your eyes is 
the White Flame! 

JuuA. Alessandro! 

Alexander. What is it we want in life? in 
eternity ? 

Julia. Each other. 

Alexander. We have found each other — let 
us cleave, and bid defiance to fate. We shall go 
together. . . . See, the light grows stronger. 
Soon it will be a broad White Flame. Let it find 
us together! 

Julia (turns to light again). Alessandro! 
(reaches hand to him) ... I see that the White 
Flame consumes the flesh ... it — cannot -—be — 



THE THIRD ACT ^^ 

Alexander. It must be, and it is, Judith. To- 
gether — together ... we go together! 

JuuA (suddenly calm). It is the flesh that 
separates us, Alessandro — only the flesh. We 
shall be together — always — always — in the 
real world. Our souls shall mingle while our 
bodies walk apart — for it is the flesh that sep- 
arates. . . . And, O, how we cling to it — how 
we cling to it ! 

Ai^EXANDER. But why shun it? It is not evil. 

JuuA. Not evil, but ever-changing — ever 
growing old and decaying. It is never for a mo- 
ment the same. Ties that rest upon it must share 
its nature; loves that find their expression in it 
are fleeting. Have not all these ages of bodily 
death shown us a better joy than the flesh has 
power to give? 

Alexander. They have taught you and me 
to welcome the Longer Night, for it means our 
union. . . . But yet . . . we must have our 
bodies — must dwell in them. 

Julia. No; we choose them. They lure us, 
and we surfeit in their ever-changing and never- 



78 THE WHITE FLAME 

satisfying affections and emotions — over and 
over again, we choose the earth lure. 

Ai^exANDEjR. You speak the thought of my 
heart, Judith . . . And yet — there is much to 
do on the surface of life — many wrongs to re- 
dress — burdens to lighten. . . . Some must hold 
aloft the ideal. 

JUI.IA. And a billion earth-bound souls to do 
it all — and save the last, none can do for an- 
other. We cling to the flesh and its impulses on 
every pretext — knowing in our hearts its empti- 
ness, even for those we would serve . . . 

There is a pause. He is seated on a low stool 
beside the couch, his head buried in his hands. 

Alejxander (rousing himself — speaking soft- 
ly). Judith, Judith. 

JuuA (as though waking from a dream). Who 
calls? I am Judith. I am here. 

A1.EXANDER (slowly) . You — will — ^ go — to 
India — with — me — Judith ? 

JuuA. Gladly, loved one, gladly. How could 
you ask me in so uncertain tone? 

Ale:xander. Judith, you have been away^ — 
you have been dreaming. 



THE THIRD ACT 79 

Julia {half rising). No, I have been awake 
— oh, so awake! Now I am dreaming; dream- 
ing of my prince who is to carry me off. Go 
away, dear prince — go away now, and I will 
sleep and dream of tomorrow and India. (Sinks 
back sleepily.) 

Alexander (rising to go — strokes her hair 
and kisses her hand). Tomorrow, then, and In- 
dia. Good-night, my life. (Going. As he ap- 
proaches the door Mrs. Blake and Dr. Plodin- 
GER enter hastily. ) Sh — sh ! She is sleeping. 

Mrs. Blake. Shall we waken her. Doctor? 

Doctor. There is no alternative; the case is 
serious. 

Mrs. Blake (to Alexander). Her husband 
has been stricken. He may not live. 

Doctor. I do not say that. He may live for 
years, but he is helpless. It is paralysis. He lies 
there calling for her, unable to move. We have 
sent for a nurse. But she will want to go to him, 
I think. 

Mrs. Blake rouses Julia — whispers to her 
as she leads her toward door. Though at iirst 



8o THE WHITE FLAME 

dazed, Julia quickly comprehends the situation 
and hurries oif, followed by the Doctor. 

Alexander {to himself). So this was the dark 
spot which the light revealed to her! {In tor- 
ture) To find — and then to lose ere grasped! 
. . . Life, your dice are loaded ! in your bland- 
est smile there lurks disaster — you cheat! . . . 
But ril resist — and stake eternity to rout you! 

Mrs. Blake {apart). Must the grief of an- 
other be my only joy? . . . She will remain to 
nurse her husband while he lives. Alexander 
cannot delay his departure. He has promised . . . 
we shall go to Adyar together — and alone! 
{Turning) It is almost daylight, Alexander. 

Alexander {abstractedly). Yes. 

Mrs. Blake. There are only a few hours left 
before our departure, dear. You must have some 
sleep. 

Alexander. I shall not sail now. I have 
changed my plans. 

Mrs. Blake. But that is impossible, Alexan- 
der. They expect you. What could I tell them? 
... I shall not dare brave their disappointment. 



THE THIRD ACT 8i 

The work depends upon you . , . Oh, you will 
go, friend — surely? 

Alexander (hesitates — struggling). Oh, I 
can't, can't go. Later, perhaps — but not now. 
(Vehemently) No, I can't — I can't. I won't go 
now. 

Mrs. Blake. Alexander — 

Alexander. See, I am calm — quite calm; 
but I yield to the stronger tie. 

Mrs. Blake. Does the flesh bind you so? 

Alexander. As it does you — as it does all 
of us. 

Mrs. Blake (aside). Oh! . . . (to Alexan^ 
der) And the White Flame you seek in India? 

Alexander. It is not there ... it is not 
apart from Her! 

Enter Dr. Plodinger. He is resting quietly 
now. I think we can retire and finish this broken 
night in slumber. 

Mrs. Blake. Is he asleep? 

Doctor. Yes; he will probably sleep during 
the entire day. It is a bad case. I would rather 
see him dead. But come, now, I want no more 



82 THE WHITE FLAME 

patients on my hands. There's Mrs. Liston — 
she is just about collapsed. 

Mrs. Blake. Julia, poor girl, I must go to her 
at once. 

Doctor. She is coming here. 

Enter Julia, very pale and weak. She goes to 
Alexander. 

Julia. You must go to India without me. 

Alexander. No — no — ^ ! 

Julia. Why should we fret and struggle so, 
when there is all eternity before us! Oh, heart 
of me! I know that you are my rest, my great 
peace . . . and that is why we must part now. 
You will go — ? 

Alexander. You ask too much. 

Julia. No more than I am giving. Who gain 
are those who give. I shall gain. . . . The grief 
is in the struggle, my heart. 

Alexander. You would darken our path 
again — project another black spot — 

Julia. The black spots are the shadows of our 
bodies. Oh, we cannot cling to both the soul and 
body I Let us yield the lesser. I must stay here 



THE THIRD ACT 83 

now — but you will go, Alessandro? For our 
happiness you will go? . . . And we shall stand 
in the White Flame together — somewhere — 
sometime . . . Have faith — and go! (sinks ex- 
hausted on couch.) 

Ai^XANDER. I — will — go! ... (to himself) 
She is sinking — perhaps dying. She cannot stay 
alone. How can I leave her now? (Crosses 
quickly to Mrs. Bi,akk and speaks hurriedly and 
low.) I go to India, but I cannot leave her alone. 
She is dying, perhaps. You will stay and care 
for her? 

Mrs. BivAKE. I — I — Alexander! 

Ai^EXANDKR. There is no one else in the world 
to whom I can appeal — 

Mrs. BivAKE. That — is — true. I will stay. 
(Goes to JuuA, raises her.) Come, dear tired 
girl — 

There is a strong draught of wind through the 
room, which slowly pushes open the great doors 
of the White Portal, through which now streams 
a broad beam of white morning sunlight, falling 
not upon the Altar, but aslant to the left. 



84 THE WHITE FLAME 

Julia has risen, her hair loose and her robe 
falling below her naked shoulders. She and Mrs. 
Blake are in the center of the beam. 

Alexander steps from the right of the Portal 
toward the two women. Soon he and Julia are 
face to face in the white light. They pause, then 
make as though to enter the Portal, but the doors 
slowly swing to, shutting out the light as the 
curtain descends. 

END OF THIRD act 



The Fourtk nAct 



ACT FOUR 

:^RUITI0N 

Time — Early evening three years later. 

Scene — In the Garden of Merton-Blake Park. It 
is an old, old garden, upkept and weed-grown, not 
entirely, but to a delightful degree, and very pictur- 
esque in its wildness and almost perfect naturalness — 
an acre's clearing and flower-planting, originally, in 
the midst o£ perhaps a ten-acre forest. The little oasis 
was once enclosed by a high iron fence, but the trees 
and undergrowth have crowded the fence so that its 
arrow-headed pickets are scarcely visible, except to 
ths left in the background where a large double swing- 
ing gate is never closed to the broad and well kept 
path from the Garden to the mansion. 

From the arch over the gate hangs a lantern, al- 
ready lighted betimes, for the evening shadows are 
approaching. Either there never was a fence at the 
upper right hand corner of the Garden, or the trees 
and bushes mastered it long ago, for even where the 
narrow path leads into the thicket there is no sign 
of gate post or fence. Here the bushes and weeds 
grow up to meet the lower branches of the trees, 
and one could fancy it the entrance of a primitive 



88 THE WHITE FLAME 

jungle. Everywhere in the Garden are flowers and 
shrubbery, but the paths are uncalculated and one 
walks with but scant reference to them. 

A little to the right of center is an antique fountain 
whose stream issues from the water that an old bronze 
green Venus Anadyomene is wringing from her hair. 
The coping of the lower basin is weed-choked and 
moss-covered, but the birds drink and bathe here none 
the less joyfully. The slender, graceful, simply yet dain- 
tily dressed woman who stands by the fountain as the 
curtain rises, resting a shapely, ringless hand against 
an arm of the upper basin, seems to be a natural and 
inevitable part of the dreamy picture. 

To the left upper is a large rustic bench strewn 
with old rose leaves, withered flowers, bits of greenery, 
and dried leaves. There may be even spiders and 
caterpillars on it! About the Garden are a couple of 
tree stumps, an old chair, and a small boulder or two 
— sample seating capacity, should the ground be damp. 

It is a perfect autumn evening, early in October. 
The ground is strewn with fallen leaves, and the forest 
trees are donning their gorgeous autumn plumage. 

It is nearly sunset as the curtain rises. A shaft of 
golden light seeps low through the forest just to 
mingle for the last time with the rival, though less 
conspicuous radiance of the elegant fragile woman^ 
more ethereal than material, who stands peering into 
the waters of the fountain. 



THE FOURTH ACT 89 

Julia (open letter in her hand). Oh, that is 
the secret — " the omnipotent power of non-re- 
sistance." Dear heart, how beautifully you have 
put my thought into words. We must struggle 
no more against the Life Current. ... I may 
not go to you ; you may not come to me — while 
the flesh lasts. . . . For it is the form that dark- 
ens the path . . . (Reads letter) . . . yes, I know, 
the way seems long. Often I, too, see but darkly, 
yet I am calm at the center, Alessandro, and if 
you call your own I will come — in the time and 
place that was and is and will be set for the 
blending. . . . 

A Voice (faint, distant, almost imperceptible 
at arst). Judith . . . Judith . . . 

Julia (startles slightly, then remains motion- 
less in rapt attention). Ah! . . . Ales . . . 

The Voice. Judith . . . Judith . . . 

Julia (very softly, smiling). Alessandro. 

The Voice. Judith, I call my own ! 

Julia. O gentle soul! the form still casts a 
shadow . . . 

The Voice. The shadow passeth! 



90 THE WHITE FLAME 

Julia. The shadow passeth. O can it be — 
can it be? 

The Voiced. I call my own in the time and 
place that is . , , that is ... 

JuuA (exultantly). O hear! 

The Voice. The shadow passeth . . . (fading 
away) Judith . . . Judith . . . 

Julia. I come . . . The time that is! (Joy- 
fully) Can it be? ... At last . . . (The sun- 
beam that enveloped her expires. Slowly she 
folds letter and places it in her bosom.) The 
light dazzles . . . the soul leaps. (Lightly but 
very quietly she turns and walks away to the 
woods. Once or twice she pauses as though to 
catch her breath and rest from physical exertion, 
showing plainly that her strength is exhausted — 
a circumstance, however, of which she seems en- 
tirely oblivious. As she finally disappears in the 
woods she repeats softly) — The shadow pass- 
eth . . . the shadow passeth . . . 

Enter Mrs. Blake, Janet, and Dr. Plodin- 
GER from the main path. They walk leisurely 
down the garden and dispose themselves near 
fountain. 



THE FOURTH ACT 91 

Jan^T. Do you know, I can't entirely approve 
of her. I could just love her to death — I do — 
but I can't approve. 

Doctor. Is there a woman's reason back of 
that, Janet — or a man's ? 

Janet. Umph! You were not so subtle when 
you wrote the Physical Basis of Spirituality, 
Doctor. 

Doctor (in mock agony). My crimes! Will 
they never down? 

Mrs. Blake. Janet's tongue is cleverer than 
her heart, Doctor. 

Doctor. That's the woman of her. Her dis- 
approval of Mrs. Liston is the strength of the 
masculine element coloring her views. 

Janet. A woman in these days should be more 
inflexible and determined. She ought to have 
something to do and a life of her own to live. 
Julia vacillates too much. She is uncertain. She 
dreams and never executes. Her emotions sway 
her — 

Mrs. Blake. Not always — I am sure — ? 

Janet. You didn't let me finish, Sara. Her 



92 THE WHITE FLAME 

emotions control her one day, she is all mind and. 
intellect the next day, and on a third day she has 
reached a height of — Oh, what shall I call it ? 

Doctor. Call it spirituality, if you want to. 
That means anything you want it to mean. 

Jankt, Well, she is poised and strong on this 
day and gains a depth and loftiness of percep- 
tion that draws her to the angels and opens the 
door of heaven to those about her. You couldn't 
hold a thought of pettiness or meanness in the 
same atmosphere with her on that day ... or 
on any day, for that matter. But you know what 
I mean. She is in the clouds on that day and you 
just have to go with her. 

Mrs. Blake:. Why, Janet, you're talking sheer 
poetry. 

Janet. Of course, Sara, and I can't help it. 
A clod could not associate with that fragile bun- 
dle of emotions, intellect, and spirituality, as I 
have for the past two years, and not have some 
poetry driven into his soul. 

Doctor. Soul, eh? that sounds well from 
Janet. 



THE FOURTH ACT 93 

Janet. Soul is poetry when I speak it. And 
Julia — she is just a soul poem, with a little flesh 
and some clothes about her. 

Doctor. Far too little of the former, I am 
afraid. But tell us, is there a fourth day? 

Janet. There is — a day of apathy — when 
the spirit, will, emotions, and mind, all are gone, 
and she is only a tired, irritable woman — nerves, 
you know. I just long to love her on those days, 
but she hides herself. 

Doctor. Ah, that is her real saintship. 

Janet. How so? 

Doctor. That she hides herself on that fourth 
day — the day most women choose to inflict 
themselves on others, 

Janet. Julia Liston couldn't inflict herself at 
any time, on anybody. 

Doctor. I don't believe she could — but Janet 
doesn't approve of her entirely, remember, and 
ril tell you why, Mrs. Blake. 

Mrs. BlakE. Do, Doctor. I've been away so 
long I hardly know my own household. 

Doctor. Judged entirely from the feminine 



94 THE WHITE FLAME 

side, Mrs. Listen is an ideal, but she hasn't 
enough of the masculine element in her to make 
a good suffragette. (Janet is about to interpose) 
Oh, I'm not objecting to a little — or even 
much — masculinity in women. I take them as I 
find them and try to explain them. Mrs, Liston 
is a rara avis in these days — yes, wisely so I 
have no doubt, for the period is a strenuous one, 
and the energy of men is vamparized by a com- 
mercialism that has run to graft, so that men are 
no longer the thinkers of the world. 

Janet. I applaud you (clapping her hands 
softly) 

Doctor. But Mrs. Liston is more nearly the 
pure feminine type than I have ever met before. 
Whatever of the masculine element she has is 
subjective. Spiritually she is deep and strong, in- 
tellectually keen and subtle, but externally she 
is — well, observe her — she is sympathetic, gen- 
erous, kindly, lovable — but weak. 

Janet. That man is in love with her. 

Doctor. Quite true, Janet. That is a cosmic 
necessity. Did you ever see a man within her 
scope who was not in love with her ? 



THE FOURTH ACT 95 

Janet. He wouldn't be a man — just a ninny. 
She is fine ! 

Doctor. Fine is a good word there, Janet. 
She is finely woven, and of a little finer material, 
I often think, than the rest of us. 

Mrs. Blake. I am sure of it, Doctor. {To 
Janet) Did she think of going out to India when 
her husband died? 

Janet. Yes, and ever since — on those emo- 
tional days. I don't want to lose her, and I don't 
think she could stand the long journey — 

Doctor. You are wrong there. She could 
stand anything her heart and mind were set on. 

Janet. But it always did puzzle me why she 
didn't go when she was free. 

Doctor. I suppose there was no necessity of 
her going to India. She and Alexander have an- 
nihilated distance in what is to them a very real 
sense. They are much together, I fancy. 

Mrs. Blake. Does Alexander write often? 

Janet. No. And usually she puts his letters 
under her pillow unread. She knows what's in 
them — she says. 



96 THE WHITE FLAME 

Doctor. You almost forgot that qualifying 
clause, Janet. 

Janet. Oh, I make an exception of this case. 
Julia Liston can set aside the laws of the uni- 
verse, I am about convinced. 

Mrs. Blake:. No need for that, Janet. 

Doctor. Just grasp them and use them. 

Janet (drily). Yes, as you say in the Phys- 
ical Limits. 

Mrs. Blake (guardedly). Does she know, I 
wonder, that Alexander has been ill with the 
fever ? 

Janet. I have scarcely talked with her for a 
week — she has been so much alone — off there 
in the woods most of the time — and there has 
been no letter for a fortnight. How long has he 
been ill? 

Mrs. Blake. There was a cable in town await- 
ing me yesterday. It is two days now since he 
was stricken. (Very slowly) It seems there is 
not much hope of his recovery. 

Janet. You never told us! 

Doctor (reproachfully). Mrs. Blake — ! 



THE FOURTH ACT 97 

Mrs. Blake; (looking around, speaking more 
guardedly). I tried to forget it, to hide it as 
deeply as I could, to put the bare thought of it 
out of my mind until after I had seen Julia. I 
should not have mentioned it now — 

Doctor. But you will have to tell her ? 

Mrs. Blake. I think not. I saw Alexander at 
Adyar about a month ago. I am satisfied their 
understanding is very complete, and that any 
news I should convey to her by word or thought 
would be unnecessary and merely confuse her. 
She will know in her — in their — own way. 

Doctor. I believe it. And the least physical 
or emotional disturbance of her would prove 
fatal, I am sure. (Amusingly) Sometimes I think 
they ought to have married. I believe I should 
have written to Alexander insisting upon it, only 
that Janet proved such a tender and competent 
nurse. For two years now there has been no rea- 
son why they should not have wed. 

Mrs. Blake. Every reason in the world — for 
them — or at least the very best reason. They 
fear a breach in their perfect spiritual union and 
know that an emotional or physical expression of 



98 THE WHITE FLAME 

it would cause such a breach — however tempo- 
rary. 

Doctor. But that is repression, isn't it? I'm 
only asking to strengthen my own views, you 
know. Isn't it a repression and a pervasion of 
their natures — as the world would say ? 

Mrs. Blake^. That might be true of another 
couple, but not of them. No, they are only obey- 
ing the strongest urge of their natures. 

Doctor. An urge, or desire, created by and 
growing out of their recollection of many pre- 
vious lives' experiences — 

Mrs. Blake. Yes, and I think they are wise 
to follow it. Rather would it be a perversion for 
them to defeat or delay this greater desire of 
their lives by yielding to the passing emotion . . . 
But she is the stronger. She holds him to the 
permanent, and he — 

Doctor. Well, and he? 

Mrs. Blake. It seems almost indelicate for us 
to speak of these things, doesn't it? (JanET 
shrugs her shoulders and the Doctor is silent.) 
He, well he is madly, grandly proud of her for 



THE FOURTH ACT 99 

the very thing in her which his more vigorous 
personality sometimes tries to overcome. At first 
he was in despair at her not coming out to India 
when she was free. But now — oh, I think these 
two have found the Way — their Way, let us say. 

Doctor. And when you put it like that, " their 
Way," you have disarmed all criticism. {Slyly) 
Now even Janet — 

Jan^t. Yes, "their Way" ends all discussion. 
I used to think everybody's way should be the 
same — but that was when I was reading the 
Physical Limits of Spirituality. 

Doctor. I groan. If you could only forget. 

Janet. I have almost forgotten. Julia should 
be here with us. It is nearly dark. I am going to 
find her and bring her to hear the Doctor's wit. 

Mrs. Blakk. Do, dear; bring her if you can. 

Exit Janet. 

Doctor. I didn't want to alarm Janet, but — 
Mrs. Liston is — well, I hardly think that she 
can be with us much longer. 

Mrs. Blake. Yes, I could see the change. Can 
you do nothing for her, Doctor? 



100 THE WHITE FLAME 

Doctor. I hardly expected such a question 
from you, Mrs. Blake. 

Mrs. Bi^ake:. Thank you Doctor, for correct- 
ing me. It was a slip of the tongue, an echo of 
my external world life. Of course there is noth- 
ing the matter with her. 

Doctor. It is the spirit refining the flesh — 
the soul escaping, forgetting, the earth lure. 

Mrs. Blake^. Slowly and surely she is dy- 
ing ... ? 

Doctor. If we must use that word. Surely, 
but not slowly. 

Mrs. Blake. And I was right, wasn't I, in 
withholding the news of Alexander's sudden ill- 
ness? She will know. 

Doctor. She does know, but in a different 
way. Spiritually you could tell her nothing, and 
the nerves and emotions must not be shocked. 

Mrs. Blake. We must forget it entirely, while 
she is here. 

Doctor. By all means. She could feel it in our 
thoughts, plainly. Did she inquire about him? 

Mrs. Blake. No — but then I have scarcely 



THE FOURTH ACT loi 

seen her alone yet. Ah, there they come. 

Enter jANie:T (with J Vhi a. The latter is flushed 
with the exertion of walking, hut is bright and 
cheerful. Janet leads her to a seat) . There, dear ; 
I walked you too fast. But I was afraid you 
would miss some of the Doctor's wit. 

Jui^iA {lightly). Sara dear — and Doctor — 
don't scold me, please, for my unkindness in 
keeping away. I meant to come earlier, but the 
moments fly so. 

Doctor. Didn't your ears tingle? We were 
talking of you. 

Julia. What a doleful time you must have 
had. I didn't miss so much, then, as I thought. 

Jane:t. Oh, but it wasn't all about you. The 
Doctor gave us a learned discourse on the Phys- 
ical Limits, you know. 

Doctor. She can not be truthful. Mrs. Listen, 
as friend and physician I am bound to warn you 
against too close association with such a thank- 
less liar — 

JuuA (rising and going to Janet). Yes, I 
know, Doctor. She is awful (to Janet) sweet. 



I02 THE WHITE FLAME 

But I have a perverted love for her (laughs and 
puts arm about Janet). 

Doctor. Oh, very well/but I have warned you. 

Mrs. B1.AKE. Couldn't we have tea out here, 
Janet — and another light? 

Jane^t. Just the thing. I'll go and ring (Goes 
left to main path. At the gate she is met by a 
Messenger, who refuses to be halted) What is 
it — tell me? Don't disturb them. 

Messenger. I have to deliver it directly to 
Mrs. Merton-Blake in person (hurries on down 
tozvard the little group who are conversing quiet- 
ly, despite Janet's further efforts to stop him, 
and calls out lustily) — Cablegram for Mrs. Mer- 
ton-Blake. Cable from India! 

Mrs. B1.AKE (turns in dismay and tries to head 
off any further demonstration). Be still — 

JuiviA (suddenly alert) . Ah! . . . the time that 
is . . . 

Messenger. It is marked Rush and Important 
ma'am. 

Mrs. Blake. Oh, be still, be still! 

Messenger. Yes ma'am. Charges all paid 
ma'am. Sign here ma'am. 



THE FOURTH ACT 103 

Julia is exhausted by the sudden shock. She 
is alone for a moment. Dr. PlodingEr having 
gone forth to thrash, tip, and expunge the noisy 
intruder. Two of these he does with alacrity and 
returns to find that Julia has silently fallen to 
the ground. 

Mrs. Blake {already beside her). Darling 
girl! 

Julia {faintly). I walked so much today. 

Doctor {takes Julia in his arms and is about 
to carry her indoors) . You'll be all right in a few 
moments. 

Julia. Please let me stay out of doors, Doctor. 

Doctor. Quite right, Mrs. Liston {carries her 
to the rustic bench. She is too weak to sit up.) 

Janet. Shall I fetch some brandy or cordial, 
Doctor ? 

Doctor. I think not, Janet. 

Julia {very laboredly, but with an effort at 
sprightliness) . Thank you Doctor, — and you, 
too, Janet. Oh, what dear good friends you have 
been to me . . . 

Janet sits on the end of the bench, and Dr. 



I04 THE WHITE FLAME 

PiyODiNGER and Mrs. Blake stand at opposite 
sides of it. They are silent, seeming to realize the 
futility of saying anything and the inappropriate- 
ness of small talk. They have forgotten the car 
blegram which remains unopened in Mrs. Blake's 
hand. 

Julia. Sweet life! I am coming! . . .The 
shadow passeth . . . Sweetheart, now life begins 
{raising her hands) the shadow passeth! 

// has become quite dark, save for the lantern 
over the gate, whose dull rays show plainly the 
white raised hands of Julia. 

Now a shaft of moonlight reaches through the 
forest trees and falls aslant the fountain. This 
broadens out and grows denser. It is hazy and 
opaque, but white, like a low fog at sea when 
the sun is trying to pierce it. 

From the right a Voice is heard — - Judith ! 

Julia {very faintly). I am Judith ... I am 
coming, beloved. 

The faint outlines of a figure is seen emerging 
from the center of the moonbeam in the trees. It 
is AlEssandro, garbed as in Act. I. It speaks — 
Judith, the long night is over. 



THE FOURTH ACT 105 

JuiviA (can be dimly seen in the lantern light 
to half rise) Alessandro . . . And the White 
Flame ! It shall fuse ! 

Alessandro. There is no whiter flame than 
thy pure soul ! 

JuiviA (exultantly). And the Master — there! 
(points to trees where nozv is seen the outlines 
of the Teacher) Alessandro (tries to rise as 
though to go to him) I come (falls back gently.) 

The -figure of Alessandro vanishes. 

The light grows more intense, but remains 
opaque so that outlines in it are not sharp and 
distinct. 

For an instant all outlines are obliterated, then 
slowly reappears the Teacher in the back- 
ground, his hand outstretched, and presently, be- 
fore him stand two nude -figures, male and fe- 
male. It is all very dim and shadowy, and the 
apparition lasts only a moment, but it is quite 
clear that the figures are nude — and unashamed. 

Teacher (in voice plain and clear). In the 
White Flame I come. In its fusing rays shall ye 
blend. I greet ye at the Portal, as all are greeted 



io6 THE WHITE FLAME 

when they willingly sever the last deceiving ties 
of flesh. 

The light hums still fiercer, and again all out- 
lines are expunged. It clears again, becoming al- 
most transparent, and first is seen, in heroic size 
the Portal from the Temple chamber as in Act 
I, over which hangs the White Light. The doors 
of the Portal are open and the Te:acher emerges 
a step or two to meet a single tvhite-robed Fig- 
ure that now stands where stood the nude couple. 

The Figure {advancing a step). I would en- 
ter. ( The voice is not Alexander's, but another 
entirely — a stronger, deeper, and more musical 
voice. ) 

Teacher. What seekest thou? 

The Figure. The Higher Way. 

Teacher. It lies not on the path of personal 
advantage. 

The Figure. I seek not that which all shall 
not gain. 

Teacher. Nor couldst thou achieve it. Across 
this threshold lies not a paradise of ease, but the 
choice of oblivious sleep till the Night of Earth's 



THE FOURTH ACT 107 

Day ... or, again thou canst relinquish . . . 

The Figure. Relinquish ... to what pur- 
pose? 

Teacher. To suffer still with men, and through 
their suffering, in their griefs and pains, to offer 
cooling cups to parched lips — and tear aside the 
veils of matter that hide their vision from the 
Perfect Light. . . . 'Tis for thee to choose. 

The light has grown softer and more diffused, 
until now the entire Garden is in moonlight, 
showing dimly the little group by the rustic 
bench. 

A very powerful White Light issues from over 
the Portal and casts a ray from the Teacher to 
the Figure in front of him. 

The Figure. I relinquish. 

At once, commencing even before he speaks, 
the Figure is surrounded by a delicate lilac- 
tinted aura which quickly deepens to transparent 
purple. 

Teacher. Hail, to a Helper of men! 

End o^ the play 



The Last Word 



The Last Word 



<iThat The White Flame shall be appraised, if at all, as 
an idealistic play intentionally unincumbered by sym- 
bolism (or indigent of it, as you will) is my hope, and the 
chief reason for this additamentum. With the engrossing 
problems of the market-place, or of social and civic life : 
with the passional and legal relations of the sexes, as with 
the mystifying, when not equivocal trend of symbology, 
this play has scant or no concern. Is there not already a 
sufficiency of plays motived on these problems and con- 
ditions? And if there be need of more, are not the masters, 
Shaw and Maeterlinck, still producing ? Is it presump- 
tuous for me to use these names on this page ? How 
greater, then, would be the impertinence for me to 
seek to enter their fields ? — ■ and certainly quite foreign 
to my inclination and way of thought. 
^The ultimate good of life — or any satisfying and 
lasting good — is not to be found on its surface. Only the 
ideal is true and of power to confer comparatively per- 
manent happiness or peace. The themes of this play reach 
beyond the surface of life — where there is room for 
ideals and for a rational optimism. Why are all the logical 
plays, of life and of the stage, tragedies when not come- 
dies? Because they deal only with the emotional nature, 
which is but the froth on the real Cuo of Life. And why 
may not art concern itself with something other than 
emotions ? 



112 THE WHITE FLAME 

^As to the ideals of this play. Dare they be considered as 
possibilities — however distant ? Which inquiry leads to 
this comment on its controlling theme : That Reincarna- 
tion, viewed from the facet of the personal workaday 
consciousness, is rather a beautiful possibility than a 
present actuality. For if we do not consciously remember 
at least the important outlines of our previous lives — 
which now we do not — then to all intents and purposes 
we have not Reincarnated. The moral of which is, of 
course, as Dr. Plodinger hints to Janet Hards, that so 
long as our attention is focussed upon those things which 
in their very nature are temporary, so long we will not 
remember the permanent. 

^Nothing within man's scope is entirely permanent, but 
that Individual part of him which does Reincarnate thru 
manv lives and ages, is relatively permanent, and in so 
much as one's attention should be focussed upon it nor- 
mally and rationally, to that extent would he remember 
its experiences. And whether he remember them or not 
they none the less make him what he is, as to inherent 
qualities and tendencies. 

^ As to the final theme of the play, Renunciation, it is 
presented here not as the horrible and torturing thing 
that Judaism pictures it in nailing a living man to a cross, 
but in the natural and harmonious manner of that far 
more philosophical religion of Asia in which the idea of 
Reincarnation is ever uppermost. If to " be good " must 
lead to torture, then why be " good " ? Well, we are not 
verv noticeably " good " — we Christians. To renounce 
should be to gain a greater joy — else why renounce ? 
Herbert Spencer's logic of Enlightened Self Interest is 



THE LAST WORD 113 

more in accord with Brahamanism than with Judaism, 
surely — or with Buddhism than with Christianity, let 
us say. In the former the highest ideal of individual good 
is never at variance with the greatest common good : to 
renounce is but to grasp a Fairer Rose. In the latter 
individual happiness and the general welfare are forever 
at sword point : to renounce is to put on the Crown of 
Thorns. It is the difference between the Oriental and the 
Occidental, between the Philosopher and the Puritan. The 
difference between tweedledee and tweedledum, do I 
hear one say ? I think not, but rather an important and 
fundamental difference of temperament that enables the 
Oriental always to be philosophically optimistic and leads 
the Occidental either to be inanely cheerful or thought- 
fully morose. 

^The ethereal, or spiritual, blending of the sexes is an 
idea that wormed itself into the play with no forethought 
or planning of mine. It presented itself logically, however, 
and seemed to appeal as an artistic solution of a problem 
to which there is no physical answer. 

^ You have a man and a woman — if you are writing a 
play — and you lead them through various, and as you 
may think ingenious, vicissitudes and events, pitting your 
poor wit against Life's loaded dice to invent a situation 
unknown to actuality. In this you fail, of course, miserably 
fail, as every reader or spectator who happens to be living 
a play of his own knows full well. But readers and play- 
goers are indulgent. Knowing a story of their own more 
vivid, more peculiar, more unique, and with stronger and 
more startling situations than any that you can invent, 
they yet applaud — if the deneoument be but logical, flow- 



114 THE WHITE FLAME 

ing as a natural sequence of the lines and the situations. 
It is in the finale that their interest lies, and to read it or 
see it they endure with much patience all the acts and 
scenes that precede it. For their own plays are unfinished, 
and they are wondering about that last act. Whether it be 
comedy or tragedy, in Life's plays and stories there is 
always a survivor or two undisposed of — so long as 
there are readers or playgoers. These smile at your 
cunningest inventions (if they be twenty or over, say) 
and breathe hard only on the final curtain. 

^Bearing this circumstance in mind, I threw invention 
to the winds in building this play and worked for an 
ending that should be logical and beautiful. Perhaps it is 
neither. I am stating the aim merely, 

^ But this man and woman with whom you start out — 
what are you going to do with them in the last act? Cut off 
the story in the middle with marriage, legal or actual, if 
you are writing a comedy. Kill them, or their lives' 
happiness, if a tragedy. There is no other course on the 
stage. Is there in life ? Not if the play is compounded of 
emotions and the actors are strong men and women. 

^ Are there other possibilities in life or on the stage — 
possibilities neither pathetic nor gloomy ? I have tried to 
suggest, in The White Flame, that there might be. But 
such possibility will not be found on the physical surface 
of life. None of the real problems of life can be answered 
from a physical basis — least of all this question of the 
relation of the sexes — because it, and life, and all life's 
problems are far deeper than the physical. 
^ It is a very old idea, this of the sexes finally blending 
to produce the androgyne — the perfect human. It is 



THE LAST WORD 115 

hidden in many an ancient and medieval symbol, buried 
at the root of every known religion of savage or civilized 
man, and was seriously considered by every speculative 
philosophy up to several centuries after the Council of 
Constantinople elided Reincarnation from the Christian 
dogma. And it may be true. Who among us is so wise as 
to know that it isn't ? 

^It will not stand the scientific test of Experience — 
nor will Reincarnation, or anything else that cannot be 
weighed and measured. But man cannot live on weight 
and measure — nor by bread alone. Forever the human 
heart soars beyond science, else v%rould science never 
advance. Nor will even the mind of man stay chained to 
sensation's physical evidence. However, it can be stated 
in terms of the scientific dogma. Thus, we can say that 
sexuality is a matter of polarization, and is expressed, in 
one way or another, thruout the universe. The seeking 
of the positive life current for its harmonious negative 
current, and vice versa, is the world's unrest mainly, and 
obtains on all planes of life in all unisexual creatures — 
and in all the currents and forces of the world. It is the 
secret of electricity, the motive of chemical attractions, 
the meaning of life to adolescence, the unrest of maturity, 
and the solace of age. In the human family at present it is 
chiefly expressed on the physical and emotional planes — 
but not always, nor entirely, nor at its best and highest 
and keenest vibration, 

^" To mesh my soul within a woman's hair," wrote Oscar 
W ilde m anguish — and to avoid so vulgar and common- 
place a fate, alas ! he did worse, for that he and his time 
could not see further into life. Might not the converse of 



ii6 THE WHITE FLAME 

his anguish be possible — in fiction, if not in life ? Could a 
man tangle his life in a woman's soul ? Is the thought too 
remote for even a play ? Well, it is a beautiful thought, is 
it not ? Could such a thing have happened to Wilde would 
literature have been poorer? I cannot think so, for though 
the tarnishment of his soul became as floating ambergris 
on the sea of art, the stilling of his sex nature, the tran- 
quillity of his emotions, might have left him free to 
produce even a greater art and to express profounder 
truths than he did. 

^ That man was originally androgynous there is every 
reason to believe — every reason except the physical 
evidence demanded by materialistic science. And whatever 
was shall be again, not exactly, but analogously. In time 
to come — oh, a very long time, of course — man will 
again take on the complete human form. The Superman, 
if you will, shall become androgynous, recombining both 
the negative and positive life forces in one form. 

^That will not be a physical form, however, I do not 
understand the ancient records to depict man as a physical 
androgyne — that is a too literal rendering for me, and 
not a logical supposition. But man was originally an 
ethereal or " spiritual " being, at which time he was 
androgynous — and propagated his kind by mental cre- 
ation. There are tales of the " mind-born sons." As man*s 
form grew less ethereal, as he was about to " descend into 
matter," there came the division of the sexes, the negative 
and the positive human forces separated and each clothed 
itself in an individual form. 

^ Humanity is losing its grossness, the human form its 
censeness. The long cycle of human evolution again 



THE LAST WORD 117 

curves toward the etherealization of the human form. And 
when the race as a whole shall put off its garb of physical 
substance then shall man rebecome bisexual. Then shall 
man be outwardly and consciously that God which in 
essence and possibility he now is — and the evolutionary 
ultimate for the race, is always a present possibility for 
the individual who is intelligent enough to foresee it and 
strong enough to grasp and fit himself into it. 

^ Briefly stated, that is the theory, fable, fact, philosophy, 
or fancy upon which logically rests the hypothesis of 
affinities. And upon this, and its corollary idea of Rein- 
carnation, is woven the fabric of The White Flame. 

LUKE NORTH 



mn 24 nm 



One copy del. to Cat. Div, 



? 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



020 994 43 



